


The Show Must Go On

by someonestolemyshoes



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged up characters, Anal Sex, Camboy Hinata, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Overstimulation, Porn with Feelings, Prostitute Kageyama, Sex Toys, crossover AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 07:56:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13162626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonestolemyshoes/pseuds/someonestolemyshoes
Summary: “Great, okay,” Hinata says. “Listen, I might have…made a small mistake, and I was—”“—what useless shit did you buy this time?”Hinata pulls the phone from his ear and gives it a long, affronted kind of look, and in the back of his head he imagines he is aiming it at Kageyama, who sees it, and has the decency to look at least a little apologetic for being sorude.“Not useless,” Hinata says, “and notshiteither!”“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Kageyama says. Hinata grins, shuffling in his seat.“Great! I’ll show you tomorrow, because I’m gonna need you to like…come around and help me out with the show. Okay?”--Hinata is a camboy with an unbridled crush and a severe lack of self-control, and Kageyama...Kageyama is, as always, privy to his every nonsense





	The Show Must Go On

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Routine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9280169) by [someonestolemyshoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonestolemyshoes/pseuds/someonestolemyshoes). 
  * Inspired by [Whole Milk](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11913762) by [Esselle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esselle/pseuds/Esselle). 
  * Inspired by [Friends Will Be Friends](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13171752) by [Esselle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esselle/pseuds/Esselle). 



> There are a few important things to note before you embark on this adventure (and a very long adventure it is!): 
> 
> First: [Esselle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esselle/pseuds/Esselle) and I have absolutely no self control, at all.  
> Second: Camboy Hinata and "volleydick9" are from my fic, [Routine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9280169/chapters/21032396)  
> Third: Prostitute Kageyama and awkward disaster Hinata are from Essie's [Whole Milk](https://archiveofourown.org/series/809013) series 
> 
> And lastly, neither of these works are considered canon for either of those universes - this is purely self-indulgent nonsensical fun, but we hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Hinata doesn’t  _need_  another massager.

He knows this, even as he adds it to his basket. He knows this as he reaches for his bank card, as he types in his name, punches in the numbers, and he knows it as his phone buzzes over his desk, rattling with a nice, noisy confirmation tucked in neatly with the rest of his unread emails.

He doesn’t need it, but he wants it. He wants it because it is a) on sale, and b) the newest in his favourite range, all shiny and a little girthy and, most importantly, fitted with three more settings than the last one. One new speed, two new patterns, half the retail price if and only if he buys it  _today_.

The thing is, buying a new massager isn’t a big deal. Hinata spends extra cash on new toys all the time—shows get  _boring_  with the same old collection, and if he wants to keep the money coming, Hinata has to keep his content fresh. The  _problem_ , though, is that Hinata has no extra cash to spend, because he is an idiot, a real, actual, lustful idiot, who wasted the majority of this weeks savings on a calendar he didn’t need only to pin up _one_ of the pictures inside.

Looking back, it probably wasn’t his wisest move.  _The money is for charity_ , he’d told himself, handing over his hard-earned cash; funding to save orphaned dogs or guide children or whatever, but honest truth, all Hinata can really remember is the tiny little preview picture for March on the back cover and an uncomfortable pressure in his pants.

It was… _probably_ worth it, maybe, because March is  _very_ good. All tall and dark and handsome, shiny blue eyes and the faintest pinkest blush on high-boned cheeks, and he’s all  _sweaty_ , too, glistening with it, pretty and wet and glimmering in the hard, dipped ridges of his stomach.

A little too frowny, perhaps, compared to all the other smilers and smoulderers right through to December, but Hinata is…pretty into it. Weirdly.  

What’s most important about the picture, besides the frown and the sweat and the blush, is that Mr. March is ass-naked, save for the rumpled up number nine jersey held close and careful over his crotch.

Hinata heaves a sigh up at the calendar and props his chin on his hands. Now, he is in trouble.

Maybe, if it weren’t so close to February, to his next set of bills, and  _maybe_  if he hadn’t bought the massager on top of the calendar, and spent too much on food he never finished, and took the bus on one too many days and bought entirely too much coffee before and between the few classes he made it to this week, Hinata might not have been in such a pickle.

But, as it stands, he did all of those things, and next month’s charges are looming right around the corner, and now Hinata needs to come up with an awful lot of cash, fast.

It’s not like he won’t make enough on shows. He will, he most definitely will; on his best nights, Hinata has raked in tens of thousands of tokens—it sounds an awful lot, put like that, but each one isn’t worth a great deal and the company that runs the website takes a pretty hefty percentage of his earnings but even then, most weeks there is enough to spare.

This week, though, he might need a little help.

Hinata drums his fingers on the desk, and stares up at Mr. March.

“There’s only one thing for it, huh?” He asks. The calendar man, predictably, says nothing. “He hasn’t been on the show for  _ages_ , and my ratings are always  _super_  high when he’s with me—but  _gaaaaah_ , what if he’s too busy? Maybe if I ask really,  _really_  nicely…”

Calendar man stares down through his frown, and Hinata flops his head over the back of his desk chair.

“Worth a shot, I guess,” he says, and with a groan, he heaves himself forward and fishes his phone from the desk.

Kageyama answers on the first ring.

“I’m—a little busy,” he says, huffing a breath down the phone. Hinata sinks himself down in his chair and grins, a nasty, impish kind of grin behind his own hand.

“Am I interrupting something,  _Yamayama_?”

Kageyama huffs again, and Hinata settles in his chair. Surely, he’s not  _working_ —Hinata doesn’t suppose any client would pay an awful lot of money for the types of services Kageyama has to offer if he spent the whole time talking on the phone, but all the same, he sounds…flustered, breathy and wheezing over the line.

“ _Yes_ ,” he grinds out. Hinata tucks himself deeper in the chair.

“Business or casual?”

“Casual,” Kageyama hisses.

Hinata hums. It’s not…it doesn’t  _bother_  him, Kageyama extending his business activities out of hours, and it absolutely  _shouldn’t_  bother him even if it did, because he and Kageyama are  _friends_ , pals, buddies, and what Kageyama does in his own time is absolutely none of Hinata’s business. Still, it sits a little unsteady in his stomach all the same.

Because it’s inconvenient, Hinata reasons. Because he wants to talk to Kageyama  _now_.

“Can it wait like, five minutes?” Hinata says. “I’ve got a  _super_  important question for you.”

Kageyama grunts, and then he sighs, and Hinata hears the soft  _poof_  of air slipping out from under his pillows as Kageyama flops himself down on the bed.

“Fine,” he says, “lucky for  _you_ , I’m on my own.”

Hinata’s gut does something funny, then, a little flip-flop and a lazy pool of heated interest, but Hinata shakes it off and folds his legs in the chair. Now isn’t the time—he has a show to do, and a business venture to negotiate.

“Great, okay,” Hinata says. “Listen, I might have…made a small mistake, and I was—”

“—what useless shit did you buy this time?”

Hinata pulls the phone from his ear and gives it a long, affronted kind of look, and in the back of his head he imagines he is aiming it at Kageyama, who sees it, and has the decency to look at least a little apologetic for being so  _rude_.

“Not useless,” Hinata says, “and not  _shit_  either!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Kageyama says. Hinata grins, shuffling in his seat.

“Great! I’ll show you tomorrow, because I’m gonna need you to like…come around and help me out with the show. Okay?”

“Yeah, great,” Kageyama says, “I’ll just drop all my very important plans and come fuck you on camera for a bunch of horny virgins to jack off to.”

“ _Uwaaaah_ , thanks, ‘Yama! You’re the best, I’ll—wait,” Hinata sits up, and squints down at his phone. “You’re joking, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah, I’m joking, I’m being  _sarcastic_.”

“That’s what Tsukishima calls it when he’s being an asshole,” Hinata says. “Are you gonna come or not? I  _really_  super need some help.”

There is a long pause where Kageyama lets out a big, slow breath, and Hinata can see him in his mind, scrunching his eyes and scrubbing his face, and then, “Fine. Yes. Tomorrow. What time?”

“You’re  _actually_ a life saver. I would die without you, literally, I’d have no money and no food and they’d cut off my electricity and—”

“They…wouldn’t do that for missing one payment, stupid. I don’t think,” Kageyama says. “Look, I’ve said I’m coming tomorrow, so just tell me what time so I can  _go_.”

Right. Yes, Kageyama was busy—busy with himself, and not another person, which shouldn’t be a relief at all but it kind of  _is_. Hinata nods his head, and hums down the phone.

“Yeah, okay!  Be here for like nine, yeah? You can help me set up!”

“Fine, yeah,” Kageyama sighs, “very excited. Can I go now?”

“Yes, yeah, enjoy jerking off or whatever. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Whatever it is Kageyama is shouting (it sounds an awful lot like  _dumbass_ , and maybe a few other choice words) Hinata doesn’t hear, because he is too busy grinning, closing his phone and planning exactly how and when he’s going to make his announcement on tonight’s show.

* * *

“You’re late.”

Kageyama is late, by five  _whole_  minutes, and Hinata ushers him in with both hands shooing at his shoulders, kicking his discarded shoes aside and yanking his coat down his arms.

“I was  _busy_ , will you—just—oi, you’re gonna pull my arms off, idiot!”

Hinata gives a triumphant  _ha!_  as the coat falls free, and he tosses it in the general direction of the hanger, planting both hands on Kageyama’s back and pushing him bodily out of the entryway, into the sitting room.

“ _C’mon_ ,” he groans, leaning all of his weight between Kageyama’s shoulder blades, “c’mon, hurry up! There’s still loads to do and we’ve already lost like,  _five_ minutes.”

“I told you,” Kageyama says, “I was busy. I have a life, you know, and a  _job_ , just like you.”

Hinata tugs his hands away and takes a big, long step back from Kageyama. Kageyama stumbles where Hinata had been bearing the brunt of his weight.

“Oi, I hope you showered! I don’t want any indirect dick from one of your clients, that’s like…super gross.”

“If I were you, I’d be more concerned whether I used protection,” Kageyama says. Hinata’s panic must show on his face, because Kageyama rolls his eyes and raises both hands appeasingly. “Which I did, don’t worry. You’re not gonna catch rabies or whatever from me.”

“Are you sure?” Hinata says. “Like, absolutely sure, because I need money and all, but I’d really rather not get any weird rashes on or around my dick, y’know?”

Kageyama gives him an incredulous kind of look, eyes all wide and mouth half-open like he can’t believe this is honestly a concern, which seems  _silly_  to Hinata, because Kageyama brought it up in the first place.

“I always use protection, dumbass,” Kageyama says, “that’s what the good prostitutes do. Nobody’s gonna pay me if they think I’m _diseased_.”

Hinata looks on, a little skeptical, but he can’t afford to argue further. They have things to do, and now he is a whole—according to his phone— _eight_ minutes behind schedule.

“ _Gaaaaah_ , Kageyama! I’ve still got to set up all the lights and get the camera ready, and get my  _toys_ out, and we’re gonna need lube and condoms and—and oh god, I’m gonna have to put the camera in a different place? So we both fit in the frame? And—seriously, did you shower?”

“I showered,” Kageyama says. He nudges Hinata onwards, towards the bedroom, and Hinata sees, from the very corner of his vision, Kageyama roll his eyes way back in his head. “Maybe stop panicking and just  _get on_  with everything.”

“Right.”

In the bedroom doorway, Kageyama stops walking.

“Hinata,” he says. Hinata bounces on his toes, and tries once more to push Kageyama onwards. The problem, though, is that Kageyama is so much  _bigger_  than him, taller and broader and wrapped in more muscle, so much  _heavier_  that even with his own firm build, Hinata can’t shift him.

“Keep  _going_ ,” Hinata whines, levering his back against Kageyama’s and heaving with his legs. His sock-clad feet skid on the carpet, but Kageyama doesn’t budge.

“I have two questions,” Kageyama says. Hinata pushes a little harder, scrambles his feet and digs his toes into the floor for traction. “One; it’s January. Why is your calendar open on March? And two; why does the March man look like me?”

Hinata stops, and turns, peeking around Kageyama’s arm and blinking up at the calendar.

Now that he mentions it, Hinata can…sort of see the resemblance. Both big and tall, both strong, both Kageyama and Mr. March have the same sleek, black hair and the same blue eyes, even the same frown, all creased in a big, puckered maze about their brows. They’ve got the same lips, too, shiny and pink and wet, same big hands, same long, slender fingers and—and Hinata supposes he could see Kageyama playing volleyball. Maybe, in some alternate universe where he doesn’t sell his body for a living, Kageyama might even be good at it.

He’s got the build, and he’s got the strength and, unless something drastic has changed in the last couple of months, Hinata is pretty sure he’s got the stamina for it.

“He’s on the university volleyball team,” Hinata says, folding his arms defensively beneath Kageyama’s raised brows. “And he doesn’t look  _that_  much like you.”

This is a lie. A big fat one, Hinata knows, because the more he looks between the two of them, the more alike they really are. It’s…odd, that he has never really noticed, but he supposes it’s been a while since he really got a good look at Kageyama, and he hasn’t been a  _fan_  of the university team (or, more accurately, their starting setter) for all that long at all, not much longer than he and Kageyama have been friends, so it’s not totally surprising that the similarity has never really jumped out at him before.

Either that, or he’s just really, really stupid. But that can’t be it.

“Is that…” Kageyama says suddenly, squinting up at the picture and tilting his head for a better look, “is that a  _nine_  on his jersey?”

“Yeah?” Hinata says. Kageyama gives him an incredulous look.

“Is that,” he starts, “why you gave me that  _stupid_ stage name for when I’m on your show?”

Oh. That. Honest truth, Hinata hadn’t…he  _hadn’t_ noticed the resemblance at all. Had he given Kageyama the name because of Mr. March? Yeah, sure,  _maybe_ , but it had absolutely nothing to do with his looks. Purely because Hinata was going to have sex with him, and Hinata maybe has a problem, a tiny,  _tiny_ …crush isn’t the right word, but there is definitely something about the setter, and Hinata is an adult. He is an adult and he is allowed to have fantasies, and if those fantasies include maybe pretending, once or twice, like Kageyama and the setter are one in the same, it’s really no big deal.

“I told you,” Hinata says. “It’s ‘cuz you’re the ninth guest I’ve had on the show!”

“Bullshit. I’ve watched your shows, and I’ve never even seen—you’re the  _worst_  liar.”

“It’s not even important,” Hinata says, trying not to think too hard about the fact that Kageyama has been watching him, “because he doesn’t even look like you. He’s totally different.”

“He looks…pretty like me,” Kageyama says. Hinata shakes his head.

“Nuh-uh, no, because look.” Hinata ducks around Kageyama and strides into the room, pointing up at the calendar. “Your hair has a stupid little triangle right between your eyes, like…like a horn, right? A droopy, sad horn.  _This_  guy’s hair is like…messy, and his droopy horn isn’t as middle-y as yours, see?”

Kageyama blinks.

“His droopy horn,” he says, and Hinata nods.  

“Yeah! And, and see his frown? It’s not as ugly as yours, and his eyes are  _way_  nicer, and he’s not looking at me like he wants to kill me, which is…which is exactly what you’re doing now.”

“If you’re just gonna insult me, I can go,” Kageyama says. “I’ll leave you and mister  _volleyball_  alone.”

“No! No no no, no, I need you. I’m poor, Kageyama, I need your help.”

“You sure know how to make a guy feel wanted,” Kageyama says. Hinata nods his head, and then he claps his hands.

“C’mon, now we’re even  _more_  behind schedule.”

Together, they set to work. Hinata charges Kageyama with the lights, first, which is a terrible idea because he doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing, so then he swaps out for the camera, which is  _also_ terrible, because Kageyama doesn’t know how to work that, either, and in the end he leaves Kageyama to gather their supplies.

“We need toys—they’re all in a box under the bed—and lube and condoms are in the drawer, and—oh! Water, I always get super thirsty so I keep a couple bottles just in case—”

“I know,” Kageyama says, yanking the toy box from under the bed and ratching through it, tossing supplies to one side. “I remember. How much longer before we fuck?”

“Oi, don’t be so crude,  _bakageyama!”_ Hinata whines, slapping the back of his hand at Kageyama’s shoulder. “And the show hasn’t even started yet, so it’ll be a while.”

Kageyama tilts his head to one side, and like a cloud drifting over the sun, his eyes grow shadow dark. Hinata blinks, and swallows, and Kageyama steps all the way into his space with one long stride.

“Or,” he says, voice low and rough in his throat, “we could do it now, and forget about the show.”

For a moment, the smallest of seconds, Hinata considers it. It’s been a while since he was with another person, with company besides his hand and his toys and his camera, and maybe it’d be fun, a quick, needy roll in the hay with Kageyama, but…

But no, because there are only ten minutes before the show is supposed to start, and they can save the fun for later.

“Nuh-uh,” Hinata says, sidestepping Kageyama and loading up the website. “No, we gotta save it for the show.”

“I can be quick,” Kageyama says, “and I can make  _you_  be quick.”

Hinata’s stomach swoops at his tone, and a shiver trickles down his spine. Stupid Kageyama, he thinks, shaking his head and tapping keys on his laptop; stupid Kageyama with his stupid  _voice_  and his stupid…good at sex-ness. The worst part is, Hinata knows first hand it’s not all talk. He  _knows_ they can be quick, that Kageyama can unravel him in  _minutes_ ; the problem is putting himself back together again in time for the show, which should be going live in less than eight minutes.

“Nope, this show’s gotta be like…the best ever,” Hinata says. Kageyama’s shadow looms up over Hinata’s back, and his voice spills syrupy sweet in his ear.

“Wouldn’t that be a good start? You looking all fucked out before we even begin?”

 _Oh_ , Hinata thinks, eyelids fluttering, that  _would_  be good. The feed going live with Hinata panting and rosy cheeked, cock pink and wilting between his thighs, cum still dripping from his slit.

They’d make money from the get-go with Kageyama sitting beside him—maybe he wouldn’t come when they fuck, maybe he’d just wreck Hinata and keep himself hot and hard and  _together_ , looking all calm and collected while Hinata struggles to keep his shaking legs steady. Kageyama looking smooth and sure as Hinata shudders his intro, trips over both his and Kageyama’s stage names and scrambles to gather himself, ready for the show.

But  _no_. They can’t—there’s no time, not if he keeps wasting it  _thinking_.

“Yeah,” he says, “it’d be great, and if you’d thought about it  _earlier_  then maybe, sure—but we’ve only got four minutes, and—oh!”

“Oh?”

“Oh,” Hinata says, waving a hand towards his desk, “there’s a box in the drawer, too. It’s my newest purchase! I haven’t had a chance to use it yet, we can try it out tonight!”

Kageyama retrieves the box as instructed, along with the lube and a handful (a _handful_ ) of condoms, and stares down at it.

“ _Please_ tell me this is not another one of those rock salt giant wang two-point-oh things.”

“It’s  _Rocks Off_ , stupid!” Hinata says. “What’s sexy about rock salt, huh? Who wants rock salt up their—”

“—whatever,” Kageyama interrupts, pulling open the top of the box and fishing the toy out of the packaging. “Is this what you blew the last of your money on?”

Hinata draws his knees to his chest and wiggles his toes into the carpet.

“No.”

“Liar,” Kageyama says, tossing the box and dropping to sit, too, rolling the toy over in his palm. “The absolute worst liar in the history of ever, probably. Also the stupidest person—you have—” Kageyama does a quick head count, and wrinkles his nose, “— _four_  massagers, from the same range. Did you absolutely  _have_  to spend money on another one?”

Hinata looks from old model to old model, and then to the new, sleek and shiny version sitting on Kageyama’s big palm.

“It was on sale,” he says. Kageyama drops his chin to his chest and takes a few big, calming breaths.

“You’re an idiot,” he says.

Hinata would like to argue. He’d like to tell Kageyama that the massager wasn’t  _really_  the cause of his problems, that it would have been fine if he hadn’t bought the calendar first, but honestly, Kageyama will probably think him even more stupid for that than he does for the toy. So, instead he says, "strip," and throws his shirt off over his head. Kageyama follows in kind—gruffly, ripping off his own tee and shucking violently out of his jeans. He opens his mouth as though to continue, but Hinata shushes him, and points to the screen. 

Their faces glare back on the screen, the pair of them, boxer-clad and otherwise bare, centered nicely in the frame, and a big, white countdown trickling by right over their chests.

“We’re  _not_ done talking,” Kageyama hisses, waving the massager threateningly. Hinata rolls his eyes and snatches up the toy, placing it out of frame with the others, the massagers and the butt plugs, the lube and the condoms, the bottles and the towels to clean up their mess, and then, with a smile, his laptop beeps, and the stream goes live.

Already, there are four, five, seven,  _ten_  people tuning in and the number keeps growing, usernames flashing by one by one. Kageyama blinks down at them as they go, watching the number of viewers crawl higher and higher as the seconds go by.

“Wow,” Hinata says, a little laugh lilting his voice, “so many of you already, huh?”

A couple of comments pour in, some nice, some dirty—Hinata has learned fairly well to ignore the things he doesn’t want to see, but it’s not always easy to keep himself calm when things get hairy from the off.

Practice, he has found, doesn’t necessarily ease his nerves.

“For those who don’t know already, you can call me Sunny, and this,” he waves a hand at Kageyama and braces an open palm against the bare skin of his thigh, “is my friend Nine! He’s joined me a couple times in the past as a treat—for you guys and for me!”

Hinata gives a wink, a big, exaggerated one, and a little flood of tiny thumbs-ups flutter over the screen. It’s still a little  _embarrassing_ , honestly, forcing flirty or sexy or playful on camera when most, if not  _all_  of Hinata’s daily interactions are none of those things, but it’s fun, at least, and he gets to make money doing what he loves most: that is, touching himself.

An all-round good deal, really.

And today—today, he gets to do all of that, and gets sex with another human being at the end of it.

Hinata stretches his back, arching his chest up and out to the camera—it’s all about the camera, every move of his body or swing of his eyes is aimed at that lens—and shuffles behind Kageyama, draping both arms over his shoulders and propping his chin in Kageyama’s hair.

“Give him a super warm welcome, yeah? He came here special for all of us.”

The comments section stutters with new messages, some  _hi_ ’s and  _hello’_ s and some  _fuck me’_ s and even more  _fuck **him** ’_s, coming in one after another. Hinata presses his palms against Kageyama’s chest, and Kageyama sinks his weight back against him. He’s  _warm_ , skin hot and smooth where it sticks to Hinata’s chest, and the hair that tickles his chin is soft, smooth. Hinata digs his nose into it and takes a breath.

Now probably isn’t the time to start noticing just how  _good_  Kagayama smells. How fresh—he definitely showered, no lies there, Hinata can tell because he still smells like shampoo—and clean he smells, and a little heady, too, something that spins Hinata’s head and flutters his lashes.

It’s not a good time to start noticing how good he feels, either. How nice the weight of him sits against Hinata’s front, and how soft his skin feels, how it catches beneath the drag of Hinata’s nails and how the muscles of his back bunch when he arcs into the touch.

Kageyama tilts his head back, all the way back, until Hinata has to lift his face up and out of the way.

“This’ll be over quicker than  _anyone_  would like, if you keep doing that,” Kageyama warns. It’s quiet, so quiet Hinata isn’t sure the mic will pick it up but it must, because suddenly, the commenters are  _swarming_ , and they seem unanimous in their desire for the pair of them to heat things up,  _now_.

“Eager tonight, huh?” Hinata asks his camera. “You all know how this works, right? You can beg all you like, but we’re gonna need a little in— _ah!_ —incentive to get going.”

Hinata watches the token count as it begins to rise. There is a sting to his thigh where Kageyama had pinched him, but big, calloused fingertips are already soothing the ache, tickling steady patterns high up on his leg.

As the number of tokens climbs higher, Hinata smiles, and traces flat, open palms lower on Kageyama’s chest.

“That’s what we like to see,” Hinata says. “What first, then? How slow do you guys want us to start?”

The replies are, as always, varied. Some people want  _agony_ , long, drawn touches and breathy moans building and building until they’re both begging, and others—others want somebody’s cock in somebody’s ass, right now.

“How about that one?” Hinata mumbles in Kageyama’s ear, pointing to the screen. Shifting further and further up the chat window is a quiet, unassuming little request, drowning in all the rest. Kageyama hums, and nods.

“Alright!” Hinata says, “Sadicko029, you’re our lucky winner tonight.”

It takes a little rearranging for the pair of them to fit nicely in the frame, but they manage, settled side by side and so close together their knees are brushing. Kageyama bleeds heat like  _nothing_  else Hinata has ever known (except real, actual fire maybe, but even then, he comes in a pretty close second) but it’s…comfortable, sort of, settled beside the warmth of him. Hinata nips at his lip to keep from smiling and rolls his eyes up to the camera.

“This okay?” He asks, palming himself over his boxers. More comments come, more tokens fly, but the thing that catches Hinata the most is the little moan that Kageyama slips up his throat. It’s soft, loud over the steady hum of his laptop and it sets a flame flickering to life in his stomach.

Kageyama looks  _good_ , touching himself. He’s made for it, Hinata is sure; every part of him custom-built to look good and feel good and  _be_  good, impossibly better than the rest. And he looks at home, like this, weight beared on one hand while the other squeezes himself through his underwear. In his element.

And it’s all fine and well for Hinata to think all of this, but he should, really, be saying it out loud. Saying it for their audience to hear.

“Mmm,” he hums, biting his lip a little harder. “You look—you look so good.” He wants to say his  _name_ , his real name, not the stupid stage names Kageyama insists on him using—on  _them_  using—because,  _‘there are weirdos out there, stupid. Murderers and kidnappers and stalkers and—’_ which is stupid, because Hinata’s face is on screen every night anyways, so if anyone desperately wanted to find him, he doesn’t think they’d have a whole lot of trouble.

He wants to forget about Nine and let a soft, breathy, “Kageyama,” tumble past his lips, but he can’t, not out loud. He spills it in his head though, moans it out long and high, and if he closes his eyes, Kageyama says his name, too.

It sounds sweet, coming from Kageyama’s mouth. Honey-thick and sugary and Hinata licks it from his lips, nudges the waistband of his boxers down enough to pull his length out.

Real-Kageyama moans again.

“Lube,” he says. Hinata blinks his eyes open to find Kageyama staring down at him, eyes hazy and half-lidded beneath the glaring lights. He’s taken himself out of his boxers, too, and Hinata watches the way he rolls his palm over the shiny, flushed skin of his head once, twice, over and over until he is twitching with it, leaking against his hand.

“Mhm.”

Hinata reaches behind him and tosses the bottle onto the floor by Kageyama’s knee. Kageyama pops the cap, but instead of pouring a little for himself, he tips it over Hinata’s cock and squeezes a small, thin line that dribbles from his head and down, over his shaft, and trickles over Hinata’s knuckles where his fist is wrapped around himself.

“What a gentleman,” Hinata breathes, spreading the slick all over his length. Kageyama gives himself a firm stroke, no lube, just a sheen of pre-cum spread against his palm.

Kageyama doesn’t speak. His teeth are catching at his tongue, pinning the tip of it down against his lips as he watches Hinata work himself. But  _god_  what he’d say, if he were to open his mouth. Tell him how good he looks, stroking his cock, playing with himself for Kageyama to see—tell him how bad Kageyama wants to be touching him instead, how much better it’d feel to have those big, strong hands working him over.

But Kageyama doesn’t say a word. If they weren’t on camera, he wouldn’t hesitate—but this is Hinata’s show, and Kageyama always waits for his cue.

“Love watching you,” Hinata breathes, and then he turns his eyes to the camera. “Don’t you guys? He looks so—so good, rubbing himself just like that. Like a  _pro_ , huh?”

Every viewer is in agreement, spewing out little, filthy comments and showering the video in likes, in tokens, but Hinata doesn’t pay too much interest. He’s too busy nodding at Kageyama’s open mouth, at the tongue that flickers out to wet his lips, at the bob of his throat and finally, at the words come out.

“They’re here for you,” Kageyama says. His voice comes deep, rumbling up through his chest, and Hinata’s hips jump up off the carpet at the sound. “All of them—all wishing they were me tonight.”

“Why?”

Kageyama licks his lips, and leans in until his breath and his lips and his tongue tickle over Hinata’s ear.

“Because they get to watch you,” he says, just loud enough for the mic to pick up, “watch you fuck your own fist and play with your toys, listen to you moan and beg and cry, but at the end of it all,  _Sunny_ , it’s me that gets to have you.”

Hinata gives a sharp, too-loud cry, squeezes the base of his cock and bites at his lip hard enough to hurt.

It’s not that he’s  _easy_. Desperate, yes, and needy? Definitely, but most days, Hinata has an awful lot of rev in his engine before he burns out.

Which is why it’s  _annoying_  that one sentence—one hissed, well-timed sentence—is enough to draw him  _dangerously_  tight.

Kageyama settles back, one corner of his mouth tilted up in a tiny, barely-there grin.

“Mm, what next?” He asks. Hinata watches the wave of comments with wide, shiny eyes, scanning their options. There are…an awful lot of overwhelming suggestions, any number of things Hinata wants to do immediately, right now—sit on Kageyama’s cock, bend over and let Kageyama fuck him senseless, swallow Kageyama down his throat until he  _chokes_ —but the night is still young, and if they’re going to make their pockets worth, they need to keep things slow.

“Alright,” Hinata says, eyes glinting as another comment catches his eye, “fifty more tokens, and Nine is gonna work me open with his tongue. How does that sound?”

Evidently, it sounds good—to all involved. The comments go  _wild_ , and the token number rises steadily and Kageyama—Kageyama hums, and wraps his hand around Hinata’s thigh.

Soon enough, they hit target, and like clockwork, the viewer’s start demanding.

“Alright, you win. How do you guys want me? On my back, spread my legs for Nine, or…or do you want me on my knees? You’d like that, yeah? Chest down, ass up?”

“Sit on my face.”

Hinata blinks over at Kageyama. Where Hinata’s face is warm, bleeding pinker and pinker with every word he says, Kageyama is calm, composed, unfazed by the words he just said.

“Everyone can see you like that,” he says, shuffling to lie flat on his back. “See you play with your cock while I eat you out.”

“ _Fuck_.”

On his laptop screen, the majority are in agreement. Some are calm, some are crude, but together they are one big collective  _fuck yeah_.

Kageyama beckons him over. He’s already settled on the carpet, tongue wetting his lips and his cock leaking against his stomach, and together, they rearrange until Hinata is propped on his knees, hands on Kageyama’s chest with his hole resting over Kageyama’s hot, wet mouth.

Kageyama blows out a breath, and Hinata shudders.

“I haven’t— _oh_ — _mm_ —I haven’t been—been with anyone in  _forever_ ,” Hinata sighs, hips shuddering with every billow of air Kageyama bleeds over him. “I f—forgot how g— _good_  this feels.”

Kageyama opens him out with both palms pulling his cheeks apart. He hums, and Hinata croons, tipping his head back and digging his nails into Kageyama’s skin. Kageyama’s hips roll up from the carpet at the touch, and Hinata’s lips spread in a lazy grin, warmth curling in his gut.

“I don’t think I’ve— _ha_ —told you before,” Hinata says, raking little welts on the sensitive skin near Kageyama’s nipples, “but Nine has a bit of a—a thing for p— _fuck_! Oh—oh god, do that—do that again.”

Kageyama does as told, drives his tongue right up  _inside_  of him, past his rim to open him out.

It’s a rare treat, actually having sex with another human being, because most of Hinata’s time that isn’t already occupied by his shows, by eating or by his classes is spent sleeping, and that doesn’t leave an awful lot of time for socialising—in any sense.

So it’s a thrill to be with Kageyama like this, to get worked up and worked out on Kageyama’s tongue. If they weren’t on camera, Hinata thinks he’d be crowing Kageyama’s name. It’d roll out of him in waves, a mantra to go with every rock of his hips, with the pump of his fist around his cock and the steady curling rhythm of Kageyama’s tongue against him.

But they are being watched, and so Hinata keeps the name to himself—keeps  _Kageyama, ‘Yama, ‘Yama_ in his head and twitching on the end of his tongue, and out loud he says,

“Oh fuck,  _fuck_  stop, stop or I’m gonna—I’m gonna come.” He is whining, whimpering and Kageyama obliges, pulling his tongue back and letting go of his cheeks.

Hinata crawls forward on shaking legs, settling to one side and panting up at the camera. Beside him, Kageyama sits up, thumbing saliva from the corner of his mouth and—like it’s the most casual move in the world—pulling a couple of strokes over his cock. Hinata wiggles his hips against the carpet and wrinkles his nose.

“I’m all wet,” he says, “sloppy and—and open. What should we do about that, huh?”

Many, many options pop up in the chat window. Hinata reads them with fluttering lids, because one of Kageyama’s fingers is running light, innocent lines back and forth over his slick, open hole. He’s teasing, barely-there, enough to distract but not much else.

And then, a message catches his eye.

Most of the comments coming through are filthy— _pin him to the floor_  or  _spread him wide_  or  _pull him back on your fat cock_  (which seems excessive, because sure, Kageyama is  _girthy_ , big enough to stretch him out, but calling his cock  _fat_  seems…rude, somehow)—but the sentence that Hinata spots is…much less so.

It is short, and sweet, and  _innocently_  to the point.

_How do I put a penis in my mouth?!_

Beside him, Kageyama snorts. His finger stills, and his top lip curls.

“What the hell is wrong with… _volleydick9?”_

“Oi,” Hinata says, slapping at Kageyama’s chest with the back of his hand. “Don’t be rude! Volley watches like, all of my shows, he’s my biggest fan! And if he needs help sucking dick, we’ll help him, right?”

The general consensus among the viewers is avid agreement. Kageyama resumes the gentle run of his finger, but Hinata’s attention is far too drawn to the comments on the screen to pay much attention.

Volleydick9 has sent another message, and this one says: _that wasn’t me_

Hinata cocks his head at the screen.

“Uh-huh, it definitely was,” he says.

“He’s an idiot.”

 _YES IT WAS!_ Says volleydick9.  _rly need 2 know! THANK U <3_

“You remember asking me what weird shit  _I’ve_ had to deal with at work?” Kageyama mumbles.

“You say that like this,” Hinata says, gesturing to the conversation volleydick9 is, apparently, having with himself, “is worse than like, the poop man or—”

“—you really wanna bring that up? Right now?”

There is a chorus of  _no’_ s in the comments section, and one weirdly enthusiastic yes, but Kageyama shakes his head and waves a hand at the screen.

“If we’re gonna help volleydick, lets just do it now, yeah? And move the fuck on.”

“Yeah, right,” Hinata says. “So, you wanna know how to suck a dick. It’s really not so hard, you know? Hey, here, I’ll show you!”

Hinata waves Kageyama’s hand away, and a smattering of tokens trickle in.

“Oh okay, we’re using  _my_  dick,” Kageyama says, leaning back on his palms and tilting his head down at Hinata, who is resting over his thighs and ghosting little breaths over the flushed head of his cock.

“What, who else’s am I mean to use,  _ba_ —Kag— _stupid_?”

Kageyama licks his lips, and his eyes flash in the glow from the lighting.

“Yours.”

“ _Stupid_ , I can’t reach—oh,” Hinata says, eyes blowing wide.  _Oooh_. Kageyama is going to— _oh_ , that’d be something. Kageyama’s plump, pale lips wrapped tight around his shaft, tongue at his slit, throat pulsing hard around his head with every swallow because Kageyama’s had practice,  _years_  of practice, is more well-versed in giving head than Hinata could ever even  _dream_ to be.

Kageyama is, in all actuality, probably the more qualified of the two to be giving advice to weird virgins on the internet, given his (far broader) range of experience, it’s just…Hinata  _wants_  to do it. He wants to teach, to tell, and perhaps most importantly, to taste Kageyama.

“You’re a better model,” Hinata says—he sounds stupid, voice all low and croaky, but Kageyama must like it, at least a little, because his cock bobs where it stands between his legs, and a pearl of cum beads at the tip. “And he’s asking  _me_  for advice, obviously.”

“He never said that,” Kageyama says quietly. His words have gone soft, a little airy as Hinata breathes over him, and there is a twitch to his eyelids as he blinks once, twice, lets his eyes fall shut.

“No,” Hinata says, so close now that his lips ghost over the hot, pink skin of Kageyama’s shaft, “but it’s  _my_  show, isn’t it? He’s my viewer, and he’s totally asking me, right Volley?”

There is a pause while other comments come, and Kageyama lifts his hips off of the carpet, smearing the head of his cock against Hinata’s cheek. Hinata turns a glare up at him, mouths an exaggerated  _gross_ , and then turns back to the laptop.

Volleydick9 has replied. Three times. The first says:  _we’re asking anyone just pls help us,_ the second _, give lots of details pls,_ and the third,  _thank u so much again!!!!!1!!_

Hinata blinks. Volleydick9 sure has…something going on. Hinata isn’t quite sure how concerned about it he’s supposed to be, but it doesn’t much matter. Volley wants to learn how to suck dick, Hinata knows how to suck dick, and people are tossing tokens in his pocket to _get_ him to suck dick, and so that is what he will do.

“I like to tease a little first, you know?” Hinata says. Above him, Kageyama blinks, and in their image on the screen Hinata can see his low, lidded eyes, staring hazily at the back of Hinata’s head. There’s an odd expression on his face; soft, almost, no deep frowny lines and no pouted lips, just smooth, relaxed skin and—and unless the light is playing tricks on him, the softest pink blush spread right over his nose.

Hinata clears his throat.

“Tease,” he says again, “you know, little touches—don’t go straight for his dick, you gotta…” Hinata tickles the tips of his fingers against Kageyama’s thighs and the muscles jump beneath his touch. “Gotta start slow. Make him  _really_  want it.”

Kageyama’s fingers tangle loose in the back of Hinata’s hair. His grip isn’t strong, but it is tight enough for his blunt nails to scrape at Hinata’s scalp. Hinata dips his head, kisses the line where Kageyama’s thigh meets his hip and runs his tongue along the creased skin. Kageyama purrs quietly, and his hips roll on the carpet.

“Like that, see? And if he’s lying back, you can kiss his stomach—all down his chest, if you’re going real slow. Don’t forget his nipples! Some guys are super sensitive, so just…try touching him everywhere, see what works for him.”

Hinata doesn’t try touching Kageyama everywhere. He doesn’t, because he already  _knows_  the places to go to get him weak in the knees.

Kageyama isn’t all that vocal. He never is, not unless people  _ask_  him to be, but as Hinata runs his lips over his thighs, sucking hot, open-mouthed kisses into the skin, he does hum, bleeding tiny, huffing noises from the back of his throat.

“When you’ve done enough,” Hinata says, nipping one last, sharp bite at Kageyama’s leg—his thigh jumps and he hisses, cock twitching up against his stomach, “you can start on his cock. I like to start with little kisses, but you can go however fast or slow you want!”

Hinata holds Kageyama’s length steady with one hand, and rubs kisses over his shaft from base to tip and back again. Hot, interested flesh quivers beneath his touch, and slick, warm pre-cum dribbles down to meet his mouth.

“You taste good,” Hinata hums. Kageyama grunts, and the fingers in Hinata’s hair tighten. “Talking is always good, tell them what you’re thinking—what you’re gonna do, what you  _wanna_  do, what you like—it’s like, a guaranteed turn-on, I promise.”

Hinata opens his mouth to continue—he’s got  _tonnes_  of ideas, about things volley can say, things he can do, things he can try—but Kageyama cuts him off with an angry kind of grunt.

“ _You_ trying sucking dick on camera before you mouth of,  _119dicksfordays_ , and then maybe you can talk.”

Hinata stares up at Kageyama. Often times, when Hinata is being a pain, being useless or annoying or, “too loud, all the  _time_ ,” Kageyama will just…tell him so. So it’s…odd, strange,  _abnormal_ , to hear Kageyama jumping to his defence. He isn’t sure what dicksfordays has said, but Hinata sucks a warm, wet thank-you kiss into the side of Kageyama’s cock in return, and Kageyama hums.

“C’mon,” Kageyama breathes above him, tugging gently at his hair. Hinata rolls his eyes up and blinks, mouths up the side of his cock and settles soft, plump lips against his tip. It strains his head, looking up out the corner of his eyes, but if he turns his ass to the camera volleydick9 won’t have a good view, and what good’s a tutorial without a practical to match?

Kageyama, for his part, is going pinker. It’s not embarrassment, Hinata knows that for sure; Kageyama doesn’t  _get_  embarrassed, not with sex. He’s impervious to humiliation not matter what he has to do, not if he pulls funny faces or makes weird noises, and Hinata is…sort of envious of that. Even after months of camshows, of playing his body like a fine-tuned instrument for however many people to see, he’s still a little bashful.

Kageyama has no such problems. Even when his cock gives a strong, eager bounce and spurts another glob of pre-cum from his slit, wetting Hinata’s lips, he doesn’t look remotely ashamed of his body’s reaction. He just blinks, and tugs Hinata’s hair a little harder.

“You gonna swallow me?” He asks, and Hinata nods his head.

“Yeah,” he breathes, lips wobbling, “yeah, gonna—gonna take you all the way in.”

A bold statement: Kageyama is… _big_ , potentially a little too big for Hinata’s mouth, but the viewers must like his words bold or not, because when he chances a glance at the screen, the number of tokens has risen, and the comments window is blinking furiously back at him.

“Keep—” Hinata clears his throat, and starts again, “keep things nice and wet, alright? Last thing you want is a super dry mouth or worse, a super dry cock. Spit is great, but lube is better—and keep some water close by! Your mouth’ll go all sticky if you get too dehydrated, and that’s…super unpleasant.”

“For everyone involved,” Kageyama adds pointedly. Hinata pokes out his tongue and reaches for a water bottle. He takes a few swigs, swirls the cool liquid between his cheeks and then he swallows, licks at his lips and leans back down, bowed with his face over Kageyama’s cock.

“If you don’t wanna get his cum in your mouth,” Hinata says—though this is, very clearly, not a problem for him— “or you’re worried about like, health and stuff, you can get your guy to wear a condom. Pick a flavoured one if you’re gonna do that though, ‘cuz the regular ones taste  _awful_.”

Hinata’s face wrinkles, and the Kageyama reflected in the screen bites back a weird kind of smile. The fingers in Hinata’s hair massage scratchy little circles over his skin, which is…a lot more soothing than it probably should be.

“I guess that’s all I can say!” Hinata says. “Just…watch, now—and do what we do.”

Volleydick9 doesn’t weigh in with the rest of the comments, but everybody else gives their enthusiastic consent for he and Kageyama to continue with the show.

It’s been…a while, since Hinata last sucked a real cock. Toys, sure—he’s wetted and teased and blown dildos and vibrators, taken them deep in his throat on monetary demand, but that is all the practice he’s had since—since he and Kageyama were  _last_  together, months ago.

But he still remembers how to do it. It’s like learning to ride a bike, he thinks, pressing his puckered lips to Kageyama’s tip and sliding just the soft, hot head into his mouth; once you know how, you never really forget.

There are little things that Kageyama likes, has liked as long as Hinata has known him—patterns, quick shallow sucks followed by long, deeper ones; Hinata’s lips wrapped tight around his head, tongue at his slit, and in the next breath half his length enveloped in the slick wet cavern of Hinata’s mouth, cheeks hollowed out around him.

He likes Hinata’s hands, too, fingers wrapping the parts of him that don’t quite fit. Hinata pumps the swollen flesh with his fist, and with his other hand he cups his balls, rolls them in his palm and plays them between his fingers. Kageyama grunts, and stutters a gasp, and his hips rut up hard enough to choke a strangled little gag from Hinata’s throat.

“Sorry,” he says, instant, as Hinata pulls off of him to breathe. Hinata shakes his head; they both know he doesn’t…doesn’t necessarily mind things getting a little rough—a bit of warning might be nice, though.

“Keep—keep your guy calm,” Hinata says, rubbing Kageyama over as he talks, “it can be—be a little fun to get rough, but not everybody is into it, you know? I already said, talking is good—don’t be scared to tell him to slow down.”

Hinata takes him back in slowly. He’s sloppy, messy, saliva dribbling past his lips and running down Kageyama’s shaft, slicking his base and his balls—but messy doesn’t matter. Messy is  _good_ , lets Hinata wet his fingers, tease strokes behind Kageyama’s balls and over his hole. The muscle twitches at his touch and Kageyama swears, cock pulsing on Hinata’s tongue.

Hinata draws himself up once more. Not too far, this time, just enough to turn his head, peek up at Kageyama’s face with wide, blinking eyes, a thin string of spit trailing from his swollen lips to the pretty pink head of Kageyama’s cock.

Kageyama bites his lip. He’s looking down through heavy-lidded eyes, cheeks flushed and lips bitten blood-red, chest heaving with each breath. Hinata blinks again, and Kageyama gives a tiny, barely-audible groan.

“Is this okay?” He asks, and Kageyama makes his first real,  _loud_  noise of the night.

Kageyama has grown used to an awful lot of weird and wonderful things. Most of his clients are fans of clumsy, aggressive dirty-talk, the kind of men who want to wreck him or be wrecked  _by_  him, who vocalise their every thought like bad-script porn stars, and Kageyama is somewhat desensitized to the vulgarity.

What he  _isn’t_  used to, and is still, clearly, very very into, is little innocent men asking little innocent questions with big innocent eyes and Kageyama’s body at their mercy.

“Yeah,” Kageyama breathes, fisting Hinata’s hair hard enough to sting, “yeah, that’s—that’s good. So good.”

Hinata grins proudly, and Kageyama’s hips stutter up, cock bumping at his lips. It’s not a total accident—Kageyama is asking for permission, and Hinata obliges, dropping his jaw and pillowing his teeth with his tongue, and letting Kageyama slide smooth right to the back of his throat.

There, Kageyama stops, and Hinata’s breathes slowly through his nose. He’s never been all that  _good_ at this part, has a stellar gag reflex to match his nervous stomach, but Kageyama is gentle where he presses, easing himself deeper with hips that tremble to keep himself steady.

Hinata hums around Kageyama’s length, and Kageyama chokes out a groan.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes, “do that again.”

Hinata does, again and again. He keeps his hands working, squeezing Kageyama’s length or rolling his balls, poking the flesh behind them and teasing touches over his hole until Kageyama’s thighs shake, one foot scrambling for purchase on the carpet while the toes of the other curl tight, and then—and then—

Then he pulls Hinata off him with a strangled cry and a jerk of the hand clenched in his hair.

“Stop,” he says, breathy. Hinata sits up—his neck hurts and his jaw hurts, and he rubs at both to soothe the ache—and settles back on his heels. He’s hard, painfully so, cock jutting rigid and jumpy between his thighs. He wants Kageyama to touch  _him_ now.

He wants Kageyama’s mouth on him, his hand wrapping his shaft, wants his fingers opening him and his cock, wet and trembling, to spread him out, fill him up.

Hinata moans, and bites down on his knuckles.

“Want you,” he breathes, and Kageyama blinks glassy eyes over at him.

“Yeah?”

Hinata bites his lip and nods.

“Mhm,” he whines. He does; he’s aching for it, for every inch of Kageyama’s length to stretch him out, make him whole. “Been—been thinking a—about it all day.  _Fuck,_  you’re so— _oh_ —you’re so big, ‘Ya— _ah!”_

Suddenly, the bedroom around him tips off-kilter, and Hinata finds himself on his stomach, dazed. Kageyama’s hand is still curled tight in his hair, pulling his head up and back from the floor. The heat of him shadows all the way over Hinata’s spine.

“They want me to fuck you, too,” Kageyama says. He takes the shell of Hinata’s ear between his teeth and he  _bites_. Hinata arcs his back, rocks his hips up to where— _oh_ —to where Kageyama’s cock is smoothing along the cleft of his ass, pressing between the trembling pink flesh. His voice is soft, and dangerously low. “Look—look at what they want me to do to you.”

Hinata blinks watery eyes at the screen. He doesn’t  _care_  what they want Kageyama to do, not right now. He wants Kageyama to pin him to the carpet and fill him up, and fuck him ‘til he can’t  _stand_.

But Kageyama is in no hurry.

He keeps an even rock of his hips, the hot, wet length of him rubbing Hinata’s hole over and over. Hinata pants, and curves himself deeper into the touch.

“Please,” he gasps, levering back on his elbows, “pl— _please_ , I want— _o—oh_.”

Kageyama hums a quiet rumble in Hinata’s ear.

“Please what?”

Hinata’s back  _hurts_  with the curve he’s holding, bowing between the hand holding his hair and the cant of his hips, arched so deep his spine aches, but he’s not close enough. Kageyama’s touch is too soft, too distant, but wholly distracting.

“C—c’mon,” he pants, “I need—y—need you— _Ka_ —”

Kageyama’s hand leaves his hair. Hinata drops his head, cheek to the carpet, breathing heavy through his nose as Kageyama grips his shaft, rubs the weeping head over Hinata’s entrance and taps against the twitching muscle. Hinata jerks with every slap, and his fingers dig into the carpet.

“Please,” he says again, grinding back against the touch. One of Kageyama’s hands curls around his hip, pulling him up off the floor and onto his knees, and the other guides his cock between Hinata’s thighs. “ _Oh_ , fuck… _ha_ —”

“That what you want?” Kageyama asks. He pushes Hinata’s thighs tighter around his shaft, so close his knees press together. Kageyama leans his weight over Hinata’s back and nips his ear again.

 _No_ , Hinata thinks, it’s  _not_  what he wants. What he wants is for Kageyama to spread him on his cock, but instead he can feel the glide of it warm and thick against his own, wet where it squeezes between his closed thighs.

“ _‘Ya_ —I want—”

“More?”

Hinata whimpers. He wants to say yes, he _does_ want more, but Kageyama is cupping Hinata’s thighs together with a bruising grip and driving himself between them, and it’s making it far too hard to concentrate. Instead, he pushes back, drags a trembling hand up between his legs to pin Kageyama’s shaft against his with every thrust. If this is what he gets, he’s going to make it  _good_.

Kageyama’s tongue laves a line around his ear, and Hinata’s turns his face towards him. Every breath is hot, puffed hard against Hinata’s cheek. Kageyama teases wet lips over his skin, against his jaw, rakes his teeth over the bone and sucks the stinging flesh up against his tongue.

“Want me in you?” He asks. Hinata sobs his yes and nods, frantic. That’s all he wants—forget the show, forget viewers and forget requests, forget  _money_ —as long as Kageyama is touching him, filling him up, Hinata doesn’t care what else is going on.

Kageyama slides out from between his legs, and Hinata’s shuddering thighs give, sending him sprawling against the carpet.

“Wh—where—” he starts, but Kageyama soothes his whine with a trail of open-mouthed kisses against the top of his back.

“Lube,” he says, “gonna stretch you out first.”

Hinata moans, and nods, and as Kageyama sits back and leans for their supply pile, Hinata takes a moment to check the comments on the screen.

Volleydick9 has been responding, a  _lot._

 _wait wait wait,_ Says the first message, and then,  _dont start yet!!!_ and,  _we rnt rdy!_

Hinata props himself up on shaky elbows, and waves a hand in Kageyama’s direction.

“Look!” He says. Kageyama sits back with the bottle in one hand and a little foil square in the other, and when his eyes find the messages on the screen, he groans and hangs his head.

“Ignore him,” Kageyama says, crawling up over Hinata’s back and peppering kisses over his neck. “Ass up for me.”

Hinata looks from the screen to Kageyama, where his face is peeking over his shoulder, and back to the screen again.

 _pls help w/ the sex,_ volleydick9 says,  _u r such a gr8 teacher, i gave the best blowjob ever!!!! but sex????? help us pls we are begging u_

Hinata cocks his head.

“What do you wanna know?”

“How to have sex, duh.” Kageyama says, slipping a hand low on Hinata’s stomach and hiking his hips off the floor. “Let’s show them.”

Hinata lets Kageyama raise his ass up, but his eyes don’t leave the screen. In the time he’s been lost to his wants and Kageyama’s touching, his teasing, the token count has  _doubled_. Hinata grins.

“You’re all being very— _hah_ —very generous tonight,” he says, wiggling his ass back towards the lubed up finger Kageyama is rubbing over him. “Nine has that effect, huh? Makes you want— _mmm_ —more.”

A few agreements pour in, and a handful more tokens drop to the pile.

And then, in the comments, volleydick9 pipes up again.

_k wat stretches shud we so  
***do???_

“Wait, wait,” Hinata says, scooting out of Kageyama’s reach. He grumbles, and smooths a palm down the back of Hinata’s thigh. “Look, we gotta—we gotta help them, they’re hopeless.”

This, at least, Kageyama seems to agree with. He reads the comment with furrowed brows and a curl to his lip, and then he sighs, and waves a hand in the direction of the screen.

“What do they wanna know?” He asks, teeth gritted. There is a vein straining in his temple, and Hinata sits back and gives the angry red head of Kageyama’s cock a little pat. He jumps, and the swollen flesh twitches.

“We’ll get there,” he says, because he feels like Kageyama’s dick needs a little reassuring. Kageyama rolls his eyes and takes a big, steadying breath as Hinata folds his legs and grabs his ankles, grinning at the screen. He’s still hot, still  _empty_ , cheeks burning and chest heaving and when he speaks, it’s tremulous, but right now his own needs can wait: volleydick9 needs his help, because he is the best teacher  _ever_ , and so he will give it.

“When we say stretching,” he says as Kageyama settles beside him, frowning down at his straining cock like it’s done something terrible to offend him, but before he can go on, another comment comes through from volleydick9, and Hinata pauses to read.

_Don’t answer that he’s an idiot._

“Oh,” Hinata says, frowning. And then he smiles, and nudges Kageyama in the arm. “Okay! Look, we can keep going now.”

Kageyama perks up immediately, nudging Hinata’s shoulders until he bends forward, and just as he is rearranging himself back on his knees,  _another_  comment appears.

_Actually wait where’s the prostate._

“Oh my god,” Kageyama groans. Hinata doesn’t even need to tell him to move; already, Kageyama is flopping back, one arm thrown over his face and his cock bobbing sadly against his stomach.

Honestly, Hinata feels bad. He  _does_ , and he feels desperate, hungry for the feel of Kageyama inside of him, but…

But volleydick9 is still going.

 _is it front or back_  
how far in is it   
what does it feel like??! …squishy??

“I’ve never been cock-blocked by the  _internet_  before,” Kageyama grumbles from the floor. Hinata rests a palm on his thigh and rubs little circles with his thumb, tilting his head at the camera.

“It’s like…at the front, kinda behind your dick,” Hinata says, frowning. “You’ve gotta, like—I dunno, it depends how big your fingers are, I guess?”

As he talks, Hinata rubs the pad of one finger absently over himself. He’s warm and damp from the lubricant Kageyama has left behind, and there’s plenty there for him to work with. He settles back to lean on his elbow, and spreads his legs for the camera.

“I’ve got pretty small hands,” he says, a little breathily, “so I have to— _aah_ —I have to go—go all the way to the knuckle.”

Hinata lifts his hips onto the press of his own finger. Beside him, Kageyama shifts, and Hinata blinks an eye open to look at him.

“Hey, move the camera—I want Volley to see better.”

“I’m a prostitute,” Kageyama says grudgingly, “not a  _camera man_.”

Hinata pokes out his tongue and crooks the tip of his finger. Heat, liquid  _fire_  zips up his spine and he croons softly, rolling his hips into the touch. Kageyama lets out a choked little noise as he fiddles with the camera.

“It’s—I don’t— _hah_ —you kinda just have—have to try it,” Hinata gasps. “Just—just use plenty of lube, and go slow. When you’re used to one finger, you can— _oh, fuck_ —you can move on to more.”

For a minute, the usual comments breeze by. Filth, more filth,  _weird_  filth and regular old filth, and then, the weirdest of all: volleydick9,

_How much lube_

Hinata tilts his head back and slows the stroke of his fingers.

“Like, a—a coin-sized amount? I d—don’t really measure,” Hinata pants. “Don’t worry if you use too much though—better than—better than not enough.”

Volleydick9 seems, for the time being, appeased, because he doesn’t reply, so Hinata starts up again for real, curling his fingers to push on his prostate, cock twitching with each stroke.

“Fuck, you look so good.”

Hinata lifts his head from between his shoulders and blinks heavy eyes at Kageyama. He’s out of view of the camera lens, standing behind it to focus the picture, but the hand that isn’t fiddling with buttons is wrapped around himself, stroking over the slick, red skin of his cock. Hinata keens, and crooks his fingers inside himself.

“Don’t—don’t  _pound_  at it,” he says—pants—as he strokes his spot slowly. “Just..be gentle, and don’t— _ah_ —don’t w—worry if you come super fast first time you find it—or maybe not at all, that's fine too. .”  

“Another finger,” Kageyama breathes, and Hinata watches him tug himself, rolling his palm over his dripping tip. He’s gone all pink again, right over his cheeks and down his chest and Hinata groans, teases a third finger at his hole.

And then, he gets an idea.

“ _Aah—_ pass me—pass my new toy.”

At this, Kageyama groans. There is nothing quiet, nothing reserved about it, just a long, guttural  _moan_ , rising out from somewhere deep in his chest. The sound of it in the heavy air makes Hinata shiver where he sits. Kageyama sits, too, and reaches for the massager.

“Seriously?” Kageyama says, and it’s half disbelieving, half hopeful. Hinata nods.  _Yes_ , seriously, because the toy will feel eight million times better than his fingers, and because he  _did_ , after all, tell Kageyama he’d show him just how un-useless and un-shitty his new purchase was.

“Un—unscrew the top,” Hinata says. Kageyama’s fingers fumble over the metal cap, slipping and sliding and twice, the toy falls from his hands to his lap. “Just—give it here, you gotta—”

“I  _know_  how to do it.”

“Hurry  _up_  then,” Hinata whines. The toy looks thicker than its predecessors, clamped between Kageyama’s long, shaking fingers, all round bulbs and smooth ridges. Hinata eyes the tapered end of the toy hungrily, curling his fingers harder against his spot.

“Here.” Kageyama crawls back into the frame, toy in hand. Hinata reaches for it, leaving his hole open and clenching at the warm, stagnant air, but Kageyama doesn’t give. Instead, he presses the end to Hinata’s lips and runs the smooth silicone back and forth, gathering a little sheen of saliva over the tip. Hinata rolls his eyes up at him and blinks.

“Nice and wet,” Kageyama says and, understanding, Hinata opens his mouth and hums as the massager slips over his tongue. “That’s it.”

The toy is too big to take deep in his throat, so instead Hinata grips below the second bulge with his teeth, and rolls his tongue over the end in his mouth.

For a moment, Kageyama just  _stares_. Hinata knows what he must look like, skin flushed and eyes shining, lips spread around the girth of the toy with his cheeks hollowed out around it, and he knows that Kageyama must  _like_ it, because a little slither of a groan tumbles out of him as he watches.

“Mmm, good,” Kageyama hums. Letting go of the toy, he reaches for the discarded bottle of lube and squeezes a little over his fingers, rubbing the cool, slick gel until it warms on his skin. Hinata sucks a little harder on the massager and leans back on both elbows, legs falling open at the barest brush of Kageyama’s hand. “Gonna open you out some more, yeah?”

Hinata half-sobs his yes.

The tokens are ticking their way up with every swipe of Kageyama’s lubed-up fingers over Hinata’s hole. It takes centre stage, that image; slick, tan skin against twitching pink muscle. Hinata stares, transfixed, at the laptop as Kageyama sinks first one, then  _two_ fingers into him.

That’s what everyone is seeing: that shot, right there, Kageyama sliding in slow right to his knuckles and Hinata’s hole sucking him in, holding him tight. It’s  _lewd_ , watching so close—surreal, even, so much so that Hinata has to dart his eyes between the image on the screen and the real thing, Kageyama’s actual, physical fingers being swallowed up by  _him_.

“ _Hng—hnn_ —”

“You like that?” Kageyama crooks both fingers inside of him and Hinata bites the toy hard enough to rattle his teeth in his jaw.  _Yes_ , he likes it, loves it, needs  _more_  of it, but Kageyama keeps his touches agonisingly slow. It’s  _cruel_ , purposeful, and Hinata glares over at him through furrowed brows, hollowing his cheeks around the toy.  _No fair_ , he says in his head, praying the little brainwaves make it through the still air and past Kageyama's thick, stupid skull. _S_ _top teasing_.

And Kageyama  _must_  hear him, because he pulls the corner of his lips up in the most wicked grin Hinata has ever seen, and turns to look over his shoulder at the camera.

“Like Sunny said, Volley,” he says, “you’ve gotta go slow. Too fast and it’ll burn like a  _bitch_ , so just take your time.”

Hinata rolls his hips against the slow push and pull of Kageyama’s fingers, cursing the show and the comments, volleydick9 and most especially, cursing Kageyama.

Cursing Kageyama’s touch, the fullness of his fingers spreading him, the brief, barely-there tickles over his prostate, and the warmth of his other hand pressed flush to Hinata’s hip, pinning him to the carpet to hold him still.

“When they’re ready,” Kageyama says to the camera, and Hinata feels the tickle of another fingertip smoothing over his entrance, “add another finger. Keep it slow; don’t go all the way in at once, if it’s too much—little shallow thrusts work to loosen the muscles, and it’ll feel good, too—just like that.”

Hinata spits the toy to his chest and drops his head back with a groan, fighting against the hand holding his hips to the floor. He wants to  _move_ , to ride the press of Kageyama’s bunched fingers, but Kageyama pins him firmly, fingertips bruising his skin.

On the screen, Hinata watches the tiny little wriggles of his own hips as his hole swallows Kageyama’s fingers again and again, taking more and more until—

“ _H—ya!”_

“And  _there’s_  the prostate,” Kageyama says, something smug shining behind the blown, black abyss of his eyes. “Easy—just takes plenty of practice.”

Hinata draws his knuckles to his mouth and bites on the skin. Kageyama has him  _perfectly_ , a constant, steady pressure rocking over him, and if he doesn’t stop—if he doesn’t—if—

“St—stop!” Hinata cries, and immediately Kageyama withdraws. Hinata pants into his fist, and rearranges his wobbly legs. His every muscle, it seems, is shaking, and he barely settles his knees on the floor before his thighs give out and he sinks, knees spread, feet tucked under his ass and his fingers clenching into the carpet.

Kageyama’s fingertips brush the sweat damp hair from his forehead, and poke at the skin. Hinata lifts hazy eyes to him, bottom lip caught hard between his teeth.

“You good?”

“Too much,” Hinata says, shaking his head. “Don’t wanna—don’t wanna come yet.”

Kageyama ticks his tongue and flicks at Hinata’s forehead, but he keeps his distance.

“We can stop,” he says.

“No.” No, Hinata doesn’t  _want_  it to end yet—which is exactly why he stopped Kageyama in the first place. Because he was too close, far too close, and another couple of strokes like that would have finished things then and there.

Hinata fishes up the toy and the lube, upending the bottle and spilling entirely too much over the massager.

“You don’t have to,” Kageyama says, as Hinata slicks up the shaft. The viewers, it seems, are not in agreement. Demands of  _shut the fukc up_  and  _he does have to_  and  _we wanna see what we paid for_ come pouring in, and while Hinata takes them as proof that he is right and Kageyama is wrong, like always, Kageyama…

Kageyama just doesn’t take them well at all.

“He doesn’t  _have_  to do anything,” Kageyama says. “He’s an idiot, don’t encourage him—that’s my job.”

“I’m really f— _haa_ —ine,  _ooh_ —”

He’s  _very_ fine, getting finer by the second as the first bump of the massager pops in, and the second, and the third, and the ribbed base curves to rest right behind his balls. Hinata hums, sinking until he’s sitting right on the toy, and rocks his hips against it.

“Camera,” Hinata says. Kageyama gives him a funny look, all twisted brows and pursed lips, and then he does as told, zooms the image back out until everything is back in frame.

The little u-shaped beauty sits  _right_ where Hinata wants it, and each big bulge of the toy rubs over his insides as he shifts back and forth, back and forth, hands braced on the carpet for leverage. It’s good, but it could be better.

“Now that it’s in,” Hinata says, blinking up at the camera, “should I turn it on?”

The answer is an immediate and enthusiastic  _yes_. It comes in tokens,  _lots_  of them, and tiny little thumbs-ups and comments galore, and for a moment it’s like the crowd is here, in the room, settled in the shadows watching he and Kageyama up on their podium, and they are  _screaming_. They yell for more, throw money at their feet. Hinata bathes in the glow of it as he reaches for the switch, and turns the vibrations on.

 _Oh_. Oh, it’s good—better than the one that came before it, and the one before that, and  _definitely_ better than the one before  _that_ , and Hinata gives a smug little smile as his eyelids flutter, as his hips roll and the massager rubs against him, cock jumping and weeping with the press of it.

“Fuck,” he breathes. He winks an eye at Kageyama, who is staring brazenly back at him, but he isn’t touching himself—instead his fingers dig little welts into his own thighs, cock flushed cherry red between his legs. “Worth every  _penny_.”

Kageyama scowls. He’s all bitter, Hinata thinks, clicking up to the new, super speedy vibration setting and mewling as it buzzes in him, all bitter because the toy is great, super great, a one hundred percent  _necessary_  purchase, and Hinata is proving that to him with every pulse of the little power-house vibrator, with every jerky grind of his hips onto the toy.

“You’ve—left me out a lot tonight,” Kageyama says sourly, as Hinata rides the massager. “You invite me over, promise your viewers a good two-man show, and look at you—still using your toys.”

“Mhm,” Hinata hums, blinking over at Kageyama. He doesn’t look mad, not really—but there is something flashing in his dark eyes, and before Hinata has time to question it, he’s flat on his back, and the heel of Kageyama’s hand is  _jamming_  against the base of the toy.

“ _Fuck_ — _hah!_ Shit, what—o—oh—”

“The least you can do is let me join in,” Kageyama reasons, pressing the toy in harder. Hinata tosses his head against the carpet and grips at Kageyama’s wrist, rakes his nails into the skin until Kageyama hisses, but the pressure doesn’t let up. Instead, Kageyama wobbles his hand against the toy with sharp little jerks of his arm, jostling the tip against Hinata’s prostate hard, and fast. Unrelenting.

“You like that?”

Hinata nods,  _vigorously_ , squeezing Kageyama’s wrist so hard he fears, for a moment, that the bones might snap beneath his grip. As it stands, they don’t: they hold strong and firm, rattling the toy in him so hard Hinata can feel the soft flesh about his hips and thighs shuddering with every little movement.

“That’s it,” Kageyama breathes, “you gonna come?”

Hinata squeezes his eyes closed and drops his jaw, mouth open in a silent scream as the familiar pressure starts building.

It starts around the toy, in the muscles that pull and stretch and clamp to suck every inch of it inside him—tension, fullness, and then the cramping bleeds out to his thighs, his back, low in his stomach, until his toes curl with it, and his hands scramble to keep purchase at Kageyama’s wrist.

And then he is coming, spilling over his own stomach with an intensity bordering on  _painful_.

Kageyama is talking, Hinata knows he is. He can hear him, vaguely, but there is too much going on in the space between Kageyama’s voice and his ears for him to find words amongst the mess. Every inch of skin feels tight, pinched, each sensation so heightened it  _aches_. The carpet feels coarse at his back, Kageyama’s breath heavy over his cheek, the toy, though still now, stretching the fluttering muscles at his entrance just a little too much.

He squirms, sucking air, and Kageyama slips the toy out of him. Hinata jerks as each bulb of the shaft pops out until he is empty; spent and thoroughly  _drained_.

“Shit, Hinata.”

Hinata wants to shush him, because the mic might pick that up,  _stupid_ , but he can’t—not for lack of trying, it’s just, his tongue sits too fat behind his teeth, and the inside of his mouth is too dry.

“You look so…so fucking good when you come,” he breathes. His forehead is sweaty where it presses to Hinata’s temple, and his cock rubs hot at his hip. “I want you.”

“ _Haa_ —”

“Can I?” He asks. “Can I fuck you? I thought about it all night after you called, what it’d be like to feel you come around me—you always feel so good, Shouyou—”

“Sshh—they—they’ll  _hear_ —”

“Too quiet.” Kageyama’s voice is barely a whisper, “I’m not saying this for  _them_ , stupid.”

“‘Yama— _Tobio_ —”

Kageyama turns him by the jaw, and kisses him on the mouth.

It’s nice, kissing Kageyama—he’s all warm, soft lips and big, sighing breaths, air billowing gently over Hinata’s cheeks. He kisses slowly, languidly, so much so that, for a moment, Hinata forgets where they are and what it is they’re supposed to be doing.

“Please,” Kageyama murmurs, rolling his brow against Hinata’s. For the first time tonight, he sounds desperate. He isn’t begging, not quite, but there is the tiniest lilt of neediness to his tone, and the sound of it pools something molten in Hinata’s stomach.

“Can’t—I can’t” Hinata gasps, but  _god_ , does he want to. And the people in the comments are looking for a show—they want their grand finale, their photo finish, the ending they’ve thrown in real, actual money for, and volleydick9 is—

Volleydick9 is asking for  _more_  advice.

 _whats the_ best  _way to have sex if you’re not actually having sex_  
like no penis in butt  
but still sex???

“Look,” Hinata says, waving a shaky hand at the screen.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Kageyama says, “it’s gonna be ballfucker69 being stupid,  _again_ , and I just—want—you.”

Each word is punctuated by a kiss, little hot open-mouthed ones at the corner of his mouth, while Kageyama’s fingers tickle against his groin, parting his thighs and slipping between them. Hinata jerks and moans, and grabs at Kageyama’s arm to still him.

“He says his name is volleydick9, and they’re not stupid, and—oh.”

Kageyama growls against Hinata’s cheek.

“What. What is it. What does he  _want_.”

“They—they’re not—”

It sounds stupid, and Hinata shouldn’t care at all—he shouldn’t have cared from the start and he shouldn’t care now, not about volleydick9 or about their—plural, because Hinata is sure, now it must be two people—weird sexual queries, but they’ve come this far, and Hinata…he sort of wants to see it through to the finish.

The problem, though, is that he is  _tired_. He’s tired and sore and overstimulated, and his brain is foggy, messy and muddled, and Kageyama is still stroking at the inside of his thigh even as he turns reluctantly to read the newest comments, and Hinata doesn’t know how much more he can take.

_its just more than we thought it would be_

“If you’re not  _ready_  for sex, don’t have it,” Kageyama says simply. Hinata blinks up at the ceiling and wriggles against the absent swirl of Kageyama’s fingertips.

_thats why we aren’t!_

Hinata shivers on the carpet. It’s been a while since he wrecked himself so thoroughly on a show, and even  _longer_  since he had so much fun—and honest truth, he doesn’t  _want_  it to end. There are too many thoughts of Kageyama in his head, of Kageyama in him and around him, but the Kageyama in his head is no longer pounding him. He isn’t hard and he isn’t rough—he is slow, steady, strong arms and warm palms and the softest press of lips.

Hinata still wants that—he still wants to feel Kageyama fill him, more than anything, he just isn’t sure he’d be able to take it.

“Dry hump like all the other virgins,” Kageyama is saying to the camera. Hinata takes a couple of long, deep breaths, and pushes himself up shakily on his elbows.

 _theres too much lube,_ Volley is saying,  _your advice sucks, we were talking to sunny anyway_

Kageyama hangs his head, and Hinata gives a low chuckle.

“See that?  _I’m_  the advice-master, you’re a big lo…loser… _ohh_.”

Hinata trails away, as Kageyama pulls his leg out to the side and dips his fingers to run over Hinata’s hole. He’s wet and soft where Kageyama rubs circles over him, every touch sending something too hot whizzing up his spine. Hinata jumps, and bites his lip.

“‘Yam—I—I don’t kn—know if I can—” Hinata breathes, because he really—he  _can’t_ , surely. He’s too sensitive, too boneless for more.

“You can,” Kageyama says, “I’ll take care of you, idiot, don’t worry. Do you  _want_  to keep going?”

Hinata nods, mindless, and watches Kageyama as he reaches for another little foil square, tears it open, and rolls the condom down his shaft.

“We’ll take it easy,” Kageyama says. He sits up, turns to face the laptop and the camera, and drags Hinata up between his legs.

“You can take it,” Kageyama says, peppering soft, tickling kisses across his neck and stroking his sides gently.  Hinata feels himself lifting up, Kageyama’s strong arms holding his back against Kageyama’s chest, cock teasing at his entrance. Hinata whines and shakes his head.

“S—sensitive,” he gasps, rolling his head back against Kageyama’s shoulder. Kageyama keeps him steady, one arm tight around his chest and the other lifting his thigh, keeping him raised over the looming pressure of Kageyama’s length. “ _Haaa—fuck,_ b—big, you’re so— _aa—haa_ —”

“Sshhh,” Kageyama whispers. The softness of it is soothing, air hushing out over Hinata’s ear. “Sshh, do you—you want me to stop?”

The answer is both a yes, and a no. Yes, because everything is a little too much, because his whole body is limp, bone-achingly tired and overstimulated, but  _no_ , because more than anything he wants Kageyama to fill him. He wants to feel him, now—enough waiting, enough fooling around, enough pandering to strange viewers with stranger questions—just Kageyama.

Just his warm body at Hinata’s back, just his arm wrapped around him, just his lips on Hinata’s neck and his cock filling his hole, thick and hot and hard inside him.

“No,” Hinata says. It’s almost a sob, in the quiet, and Kageyama shushes him again, tilting his head to kiss his lips and lowering him down, impaling him.

Hinata’s mouth drops open in a silent, breathy cry as he takes Kageyama inch by inch, the sheer weight of him, supported only by Kageyama’s hands, carrying him down. Kageyama sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and laves it with his tongue, lets him go, murmurs soft encouragement in his ears as he drops lower and lower, feels fuller and fuller.

“So good,” Kageyama breathes, digging blunt nails into his thigh, “taking me so well, Sho—breathe,” it’s quiet, perhaps loud enough for the mic to catch but Hinata doesn’t  _care_. The only thing he cares about right now is the pressure inside him, and the burn, the soft, breaking waves of pleasure rolling over him.

“So f—full,” Hinata slurs, gasping, back bowing as Kageyama bottoms out inside him. “‘Yama, so—so much.”

“I know, I know,” Kageyama says, “but you’re doing so well, so good for me. Stop holding your— _oi_ , deep breath, stupid.”

For a little while, they don’t move. Hinata sits and he pants, writhing now and then when Kageyama twitches inside him. He’s parched, each breath scratching his throat, and there is a sticky kind of dryness to his tongue that chokes him with each swallow.

“Thirsty?” Kageyama asks. The fingers at Hinata’s thigh have gone soft, stroking mindless patterns over the welted skin, and the arm around his chest hugs him close, palm resting over the frantic beat of his heart. Hinata lolls his head against Kageyama’s shoulder and nods.

They the both of them have to lean a little for Kageyama to reach a water bottle, and Hinata pants his way through the whole manoeuvre, whimpering at the pressure on his abused prostate. After what feels like an ever-spinning lifetime, they are settled once more, Hinata with his back braced on Kageyama’s chest, sucking his breaths and wriggling in his lap.

“Here,” Kageyama says, popping the top on the bottle. “Drink up.”

It takes both Kageyama’s hand and his own to keep the bottle steady. Hinata’s fingers tremble around the plastic but Kageyama’s grip is firm, grounding, tipping the bottle enough for Hinata to sip his fill.

“Oi, dumbass, you alright?” He asks after a time. Hinata huffs at the insult, but something inside of him burns warm with it—it’s not often Kageyama sounds like he  _cares_ , but right now, there is something so  _soft_  to him, so gentle, it melts a little of the tension from Hinata’s aching limbs.

Hinata hums, and rolls his head until his brow is pressed to Kageyama’s neck.

“Mhm.”

“Can I move?”

“Slow,” Hinata says, and Kageyama nods. He wraps one arm around Hinata’s waist to hold him and, with the other hand braced to the floor, he levers his feet against the carpet, and grinds his hips up—slow and gentle, just like Hinata wants it. “Like— _haa_ —like that.”

Kageyama presses his lips to Hinata’s sweaty forehead, and hums.

“You feel so good,” he breathes, grinding himself up a little harder.

Squinting at the screen, Hinata can see the comments coming in, the likes and the tokens—more than he’d expected, given that the pair of them have, predominantly, ignored the majority of their viewers. Most people are appreciative, some praising, some a little disturbing and some downright crude and some (see: volleydick9) are still demanding.

 _Hold hands,_ he is saying, in amongst a slew of  _fuck yeah’_ s and  _harder, fuck him into the floor_ ’s, and it’s…an odd request, not something Hinata has ever been asked, not even with Kageyama’s past guest appearances, but Kageyama’s hand  _is_  within reach, and Hinata does, he thinks, need something to ground him before he floats away.  

_kiss too_

Hinata fumbles for Kageyama’s fingers where they grip at his chest. Hinata thinks he must’ve read the comments too, because he doesn’t fight and he doesn’t question, just loosens his hold and knots his warm, sweaty fingers against Hinata’s.

 _This_  feels nice. Kageyama moving slow in him, holding him close, squeezing their curled fingers and nuzzling his nose into Hinata’s hair—it’s not just sex-good, it’s…good-good. Comfortable.  _Homely_.

Hinata butts his head up, nudges until Kageyama pulls back, just enough for his breath to tease fly-away strands of Hinata’s hair. There is something heavy swelling in him, right in his chest, crushing the air from his lungs and squeezing his heart so tight to his ribs Hinata thinks it might just stop at any second. He wants to say…so many things, but the more Kageyama touches him, the harder it becomes to even  _breathe_.

He wants to say so many things, but all that comes out is, “Kiss.”

Hinata’s eyes are all hazy, watery and welling with the fullness in his chest, but he is sure that for the smallest of moments, Kageyama’s eyes go wide. Impossibly wide, and he stills the slow grind of his hips, stills the rub of his thumb, stills the breath in his lungs but his heart must keep going, it must, because even as Kageyama sits rigid, his cheeks  _flare_  with the prettiest pink blush, billowing hot and bright from cheek to cheek and right over the bridge of his nose.

When Kageyama kisses him, it is slow again. Hinata doesn’t have an awful lot of time for  _kissing_ , always found it a little weird anyway, but there is something so  _nice_  about the feel of Kageyama’s lips open and shaky against his own, of his tongue stroking slow and languid between his teeth, the tickle of it against the roof of his mouth, that Hinata doesn’t even mind so much that kissing is…pretty strange.

Kageyama keeps on kissing, keeps on rolling his hips, and Hinata keeps clenching around him, milking his length where it sits buried deep inside him. Kageyama is groaning—tiny, soft little moans, and Hinata drinks them down swallow after swallow, spits up his own whiny little cries with every twitch of Kageyama’s cock.

He himself is still only half-hard. He’s too spent, he thinks, to come again, but Kageyama feels good inside him regardless, and he has been treated…pretty damn well through the whole show. He is more than content to let Kageyama have this—to let him move in him, hold him and kiss him and get himself off just like he wants to—and that is what Kageyama does.

“Gonna—I’m so close—” Kageyama breathes into his mouth, tipping his forehead until their brows press tight together. Hinata nods his head, gasping, as Kageyama’s hips start jerking under him. He can’t get much leverage, not sitting like he is, with only one arm to steady him so his movements don’t get much faster, or much harder, but they do become a little erratic.

“Mhm,” Hinata hums, squeezing at Kageyama’s fingers. Kageyama grips him harder, and Hinata can feel the tell-tale tremble of Kageyama’s thighs beneath him.

“What about— _hah_ —about y—you?” Kageyama huffs. Hinata shakes his head. He’s not coming, not any time soon.

“Doesn’t ma—atter—” Hinata gasps. And it really doesn’t, it doesn’t matter at  _all_.  

“You—I want you to—Hin—You feel so good. I can’t—can’t wait.” Kageyama breathes. Hinata nods, drawing their clasped hands up to his mouth to kiss across Kageyama’s knuckles.

“S’okay,” he says, “want t—to feel you come in me.”

It’s almost like that’s all he needed to hear. Kageyama tenses, pressing his forehead so close to Hinata’s it's almost painful, and with a stuttered, shuddering little gasp, he comes, cock swelling and jerking and spilling into the condom.

“Shit…shit,” Kageyama breathes softly. He’s all  _sticky_ , skin tacky like glue, and that alone should be unpleasant. The wobbling ache to Hinata’s thighs should be unpleasant, and the burn of his chest as he catches his breath, and the slick, wet slip of Kageyama pulling out of him should most definitely be  _horribly_  unpleasant, but all Hinata feels as he flops to lie belly-down on the carpet, is a warm, sugary kind of contentment.

Hinata rests a cheek on folded arms and kicks his legs at the floor, watching Kageyama as he ties a knot in the condom—his fingers are all shaky, fumbling over the slippery latex, but he manages—and tosses it in the general direction of Hinata’s bin. Whether it hits or not, he doesn’t know, because Kageyama’s shadow looms down over him and soft, dry lips brush over his cheek.

“Thanks,” he says. Hinata grins, and swings his heel to bump lazily at the back of his thigh. He is aching all over, and he’s still flagging half-mast where his dick rubs over the carpet, but he feels…satisfied. He hums, and pushes up on his elbows.

On the screen, the token count is…substantial. A good head start for the rest of the week, Hinata thinks, wincing at the little twinges of pain biting his aching muscles. This will do nicely.

He pops his chin on his palm and grins up at the camera.

“This has been  _fun_ ,” Hinata says, blinking slow, eyes trained on the lens. It’s almost  _pointless_ , really, saying his goodbyes because most people disappear once the main event is over, and sure enough, with every word, the number of viewers dwindles down, down, down, until only one person is left.

Hinata cocks his head at the name, and looks up at Kageyama, cupping a hand over his mouth.

“You think they’re even still there?” He whispers, altogether too loudly. Kageyama rolls his eyes and flops to lie on his back, one arm thrown over his shiny, sweaty forehead, the other trailing little tickling patterns over Hinata’s back. He huffs a great big breath through his nose and shakes his head.

“Probably fucking unconcious,” he murmurs. His fingers draw tiny mindless swirls over the bottom of Hinata’s spine, the sensation so soothing that, for a moment, Hinata lets his eyes drift closed.

When he opens them, there is another message from volleydick9.

 _Nah_ , it says,  _we’re ready for round 3_.

Kageyama chuckles from his spot on the floor. He’s reading upside down, head tipped back, hair all ruffled and rumpled by the carpet. It shouldn’t be  _cute_ , because guys as big and as grumpy and as hot as Kageyama aren’t supposed to be cute, but it kind of, maybe sort of is, and Hinata kind of, maybe sort of likes it.

_actually, ty. That was rly RLY good…. You guys are the best_

Hinata grins broadly. He’s tired beyond measure, might just sleep right here, on the floor, with Kageyama warm and soft at his side and volleydick9 singing his (their, but really, Hinata knows who did most of the work here) praises on the screen.

“Well we  _are_  professionals,” Hinata says, and Kageyama scoffs.

“Dumbass,” he says. “I’m a professional. I don’t know what the hell you are.”

“Oi! No need to be  _rude_! I have had your dick in two—” Hinata brandishes two fingers, “ _two_ different holes today, you can at least be nice to me.” Hinata pouts, and for a while, Kageyama just stares at him. Hinata stares back: right now, as they are, Kageyama is close enough that if Hinata leant just a little to the left, maybe,  _maybe_ he could kiss him. But that might be weird, because the show is over, and kissing isn’t something friends just  _do_.

But he sort of wants to, even if it’s not for the camera. Because Kageyama looks all  _soft_ , like this, stretched over the carpet, skin all glistening and glowing under the glare from the lights, and he’s not scowling, not right now—which is a miracle, Hinata doesn’t think he’s  _ever_  seen Kageyama  _not_ looking grumpy, not without his dick in something—and it’s…nice. It’s really, super nice, just lying like this, quiet in the late hour with nobody but Kageyama by his side and volleydick9 still tuned in to the stream.

“You know what?” He says absently, staring at Kageyama’s face. Kageyama isn’t looking at him, head still tipped back to look at the laptop. “We should meet up. It’d be super cool, you know? We could show you guys more stuff and—there  _is_  two of you, yeah? ‘Cuz I thought—” Hinata pauses around a yawn, and blinks sleep-sticky eyes.  _God_ , he’s tired. “—I thought you might’ve been drunk, or high, or—”

“—stupid,” Kageyama supplies. He  _is_  looking, now, eyes all wide and  _judgey_ , like Hinata has said something—

“Stupid,” Kageyama says again.

“Yeah, stupid,” Hinata says. “We thought you might be stupid—”

“Not  _them_ ,” Kageyama says. “ _You_. You’re really,  _really_  asking strangers on the internet to meet up, in real life, so we can show them how to dick each other in person?”

On the screen, volleydick9 gives an enthusiastic,  _yeAAHHH!!!!_

“Why not?” Hinata asks. “They’re into it, I’m into it, you do it for a  _living_ —”

“—what kind of cheap wh—”

But Hinata cuts him off with a wave of his hand, because Volley has sent them another message.

_When wud u want 2??? OH and whats ur name????_

Hinata grins. Even in his exhaustion, this is exciting—mostly because he will get to hear these people say out loud how great he is at sex-everything, but a little bit because it means he and Kageyama will get to have sex again,  _soon_.

“Oh! Right, I’m Hi—”

But Kageyama is scrambling to his feet, gurgling something strangled in the back of his throat as he launches himself for the camera, pulling the lead from the back and knocking the entire tripod, camera and all, to the floor.

“Hey!” Hinata says, attempting to pull himself up, too. His arms and legs struggle to bear his weight, wobbling like jelly as he clambers to his feet. “That’s expensive! You better not break it,  _Bakageyama_ , or you’re buying me a new one!”

“Buy it with the money you  _should_  be paying me to be here,” Kageyama snarks back.

Fortunately, the camera is fine. Hinata packs it away with a few scathing looks over his shoulder in Kageyama’s general direction, and once he is done, he flops face first onto his mattress, and shuts his eyes.

Kageyama nudges his thigh.

“Up,” he says. “Go, clean. Do you have anything for your carpet?”

Hinata raises his brows, and realises a little late that Kageyama can’t see him.

“Huh?” He says into the bedding. Kageyama nudges him again.

“Your floor, stupid. We didn’t put anything down to keep it clean.”

Oh.  _Oh_. Sure enough, when Hinata finds the strength to peek over his shoulder, there are a few big, oily looking stains on his nice fresh carpet, and a stack of clean, untouched sheets slung over the back of his desk chair in the corner.

“ _Gaaaaah_ , why didn’t you remind me!”

“How is this  _my_  fault?”

“Because,” Hinata whines. That’s it: just because. Because Hinata refuses to believe it is  _his_  fault. 

“I’ll clean it,” Kageyama says. “You, go shower.”

“No,” Hinata says, petulant. “I’m  _tired_.”

“You’re gonna be sticky and gross and mad at me in the morning if you don’t get clean.”

“I’m  _always_  sticky and gross and mad at you.” A bad comeback. A very very bad, untrue comeback, because Hinata is in fact (most days, at least) very strict about cleaning post-show, and he isn’t often (ever)  _really_  mad at Kageyama. But he is tired, and standing under the hot water sounds like…an awful lot of effort.

“Come on,” Kageyama says, and he forcibly lifts Hinata up off the mattress and onto his feet. Hinata wobbles where he stands and grabs at Kageyama’s hips to keep steady.

“ _You_  shower for me,” he says, yawning, and Kageyama—

—Kageyama obliges.

It’s an awful lot easier standing in the shower when he doesn’t really have to  _stand_  at all. More, Hinata leans his weight against Kageyama’s big tall frame while Kageyama cleans him, rubs lathered, bubbly soap over his his chest, his neck, between his legs—wiping every last trace of lube and sweat and who knows  _what_  off of him until Hinata is squeaky clean.

“Your hair’s all sweaty,” Hinata says when Kageyama is done, lathering up too much shampoo and stretching to smother Kageyama’s head in it. He complains  _loudly,_ about having to bend his neck for Hinata to reach, about Hinata spiking his hair all up in a big, long, soapy spine atop his head and the loudest complaint of all comes when the suds run into his eyes, and Hinata only laughs, tumbling out of the shower and leaving him to stagger his way around blindly.

Once he is mostly dry, Hinata clambers beneath the covers of his bed. It’s  _warm_ , and the sheets feel satin-smooth compared to the carpet, and the moment his head hits the pillow, Hinata begins to nod off.

He wakes to a dip in the mattress, and the tickle of Kageyama’s fingers on his forehead.

The room is dark. Kageyama has switched off all of the lights, save for the one in the hallway, and Hinata blinks at the thin orange beams spilling through a crack in the door. Kageyama brushes a few still-damp strands from Hinata’s brow, and then, meeting Hinata’s bleary eyes, abruptly pulls away and sits upright.

“I’m going,” he says, and only then does Hinata notice that Kageyama is half dressed. His jeans are back on, though his shirt is clutched and wrinkling in his fist. Hinata blinks up at him.

He doesn’t fully understand  _why_ , but Hinata…very much doesn’t want Kageyama to leave. It’s a strange feeling, all hollow where his chest was full, cold where he was warm, and in his sleepiness Hinata doesn’t have it in him to keep quiet.

“You can stay,” he says, nuzzling his cheek into the pillow. “The beds big enough for two.”

“I have work tomorrow,” Kageyama says.

“I have class tomorrow.” Hinata fumbles, and tosses the bedclothes back behind him. “Just  _stay_ , stupid.”

“ _You’re_  stupid,” Kageyama says, and then he stands. For a moment, Hinata thinks he might really leave, and the cold that was once warm turns  _freezing_ , icy in his stomach, but then Kageyama closes the bedroom door fully, unfastens his belt and shucks of his jeans, and he clambers beneath the covers at Hinata’s back and settles in so close, their heads are resting on the same pillow.

Hinata smiles, and closes his eyes.

“Hinata,” Kageyama says into the darkness. Hinata hums. “Shouyou.”

Hinata turns his head.

And Kageyama kisses him.

It’s quick, a peck, more than anything—a gentle press of his lips to Hinata’s, but the heat of it pours through him like wine, burning in his chest. Kageyama sighs out a long breath, warm air puffing out over Hinata’s cheeks, and as quickly as the kiss had started, it stops again.

Kageyama drops his head back onto the pillow with a weird, strained kind of groan, and presses his entire face into the half-dry hair at the back of Hinata’s head.

Slowly, hesitantly, almost, Kageyama’s fingers creep around Hinata’s waist. They dance over the skin, edging down over his stomach until they are touching the mattress, and when Hinata doesn’t protest, Kageyama hugs his arm tight around his waist, and pulls him until they are curled back to chest beneath the covers.

Smiling lazily, Hinata drags his heel over Kageyama’s legs, and wedges his foot in between them. It takes some wriggling and some grunting on Kageyama’s part, but eventually, Hinata manages to navigate one of Kageyama’s thighs to press up between his own, and tangles both feet around his ankle.

“Night, ‘Yama,” Hinata breathes. Kageyama nuzzles into his hair and squeezes his waist.

“Go to sleep.”

Tomorrow, Hinata thinks, he will deal with everything. Tomorrow, he will clean the stains on his carpet and tomorrow, he will wipe down his toy, pack away his things, start all over again for the next show.

Tomorrow, he will wake with Kageyama curled at his back, and maybe he will kiss him, and maybe they will do more, without the cameras and the viewers and the money on the line, and maybe they will have to talk about it but maybe not, maybe things will just fall nicely into place.

But those are problems for tomorrow. Tonight, with Kageyama’s breathing deep and slow at his back, nose buried in his hair and a hand tucked tight around his waist—tonight, they will sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> But wait! This is only half the story. Essie wrote the other half [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13171752)! Thank you so much for all of your support and your patience, and for indulging out very silly ideas—it’s very much appreciated <3 
> 
> (And if you're especially interested in seeing more camboy Hinata at play, you might want to keep an eye out on his story [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9280169/chapters/21032396), for there may be more to come soon...)
> 
> Tumblr: someone-stole-my-shoes  
> Twitter: someone_stolemy


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